


i know someone who kisses the way (a flower opens)

by romantiser



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, a little ooc but i just need robbe to be happy, his happiness is literally the only thing i care about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21574552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romantiser/pseuds/romantiser
Summary: It’s raining again.Robbe doesn’t mind. He’s used to the cold weather; to the sudden shock of a climate change; to feeling the harshness of winter against his skin. It makes him think of swimming pools and bleached hair and a wildfire that rips through his chest, nerves burning with want. He stands in front of the mural, glancing up at these intense colours and for a second, he wishes he was as brave as Sander makes him feel.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 2
Kudos: 164





	i know someone who kisses the way (a flower opens)

It’s raining again.

Robbe doesn’t mind. He’s used to the cold weather; to the sudden shock of a climate change; to feeling the harshness of winter against his skin. It makes him think of swimming pools and bleached hair and a wildfire that rips through his chest, nerves burning with want. He stands in front of the mural, glancing up at these intense colours and for a second, he wishes he was as brave as Sander makes him feel.

He tries not to think about the ledge.

About how it felt to be standing at the edge of the water, looking down, knowing that in less than a second, it could all end. That he had the choice to let himself fall into the abyss. (It doesn’t matter that it’s a choice he didn’t make.) Or how his mind would no longer be the Chernobyl he’d talked about. There’d be no insomnia, no hurt, no shame or embarrassment. There’d be nothing.

Instead, he’d find a semblance of peace.

Or at least, something that feels like it.

His phone vibrates; a tightening noose around his neck.

He doesn’t want to know who it is. He already knows it’s not the person he wants it to be. He’d opened up their chat more times than he cares to admit in the last week or so, scrolling absently through the stream of texts Sander had sent him; each one hurting more than the most.

Messages that Robbe had purposely ignored.

No one could deny that he’d had every right to ignore them but ever since that day in the café where Sander smiled and joked about Booking.com, Robbe had thought about reaching out. He’d wanted to turn back time, to erase the harsh realities of what happened to them until the only thing he could remember is that warm feeling in his chest that Sander creates; something that feels a little too much like home. He’d thought about demanding a reason, an excuse, an explanation; one that was long overdue for the both of them.

But he wasn’t angry anymore.

He’s only confused; like there’s something he’s missing.

But there’s still something holding him back too.

He tries to blame it on the hurt that’s tearing his heart into pieces. The same pain that manifested itself into anger when Robbe had seen Sander kissing Britt even after he’d claimed she was history.

“I love you. That’s all that matters.”

Except, that was a lie, wasn’t it?

Because if Sander loved him half as much as he claimed he did, then surely he wouldn’t want to rip Robbe’s heart straight out of his chest. He wouldn’t want to destroy any chance of a future they could share; one filled with early morning cuddles, butterfly kisses and conversations about alternate universes. He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t—he wouldn’t—

Except that’s precisely what happened.

But Robbe also knows this:

If Sander didn’t feel anything for him, then the mural wouldn’t exist. Robbe’s not as naive as he used to be. He knows that back in his bedroom on that Wednesday afternoon, the sketch Sander had shown him was this. In all of its glory. This is the masterpiece Sander wanted to create for him.

“Imagine this on a big wall in these intense colours.”

He never expected anything on this scale.

He takes a breath, then exhales it out.

It wasn’t finished when Sander had first shown him. It was a rough sketch at best; crumpled paper, smudged pencil markings and the faint outline of Robbe in an explosion of his thoughts spattered on the bricks behind.

It was the first time someone had seen Robbe for who he is. For who he wishes he could be.

There’s something almost poetic about it all.

He reaches for his phone, pulling it out. The screen is soaked in the three seconds it’s exposed to the November rain, but he doesn’t mind it, as long as the water damage doesn’t affect it too much. The phone is silent now; screen softly blinking up at him due to the low battery.

He can’t remember the last time he charged it.

His thumb hovers over Sander’s icon, dragging it down so Robbe can focus on his features. On his bleached hair and the intensity behind his eyes. Or the way Sander’s hair felt underneath his fingertips. How hard it was to breathe when Sander was in his bedroom, on his bed, in the one place Robbe could hide from the entire world.

Sander’s contact info pops up, and Robbe calls him.

His heart is in his throat as he waits for the dialling tone. It rings once, twice then three times before Robbe realises he can hear the faint hum of a David Bowie song echoing from somewhere behind him. He can’t recognise the song. He blames it on the fact that he didn’t complete his amateur Bowie exam and a smile pulls at his lips before he can stop it.

“Robbe.”

He hangs up the phone, turning around to see Sander standing there. His hood is pulled up over his head, but Robbe can still see the frown tugging at his brow and the purplish hue underneath his eyes, the lack of sleep hitting them both hard.

“I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“I just had to check it was real,” Robbe tells him.

“The mural?”

Robbe nods once.

Sander hesitates then asks, “Or us?”

Robbe doesn’t nod again. He doesn’t like that he’s so easy to read. That one small microexpression is enough to give him away. His mother always used to tell him that he wore his heart on his sleeve; something about how it makes him vulnerable to the ones he loves. He’d never really believed her, not until Sander.

Not until right here.

Right in this very moment.

Sander only offers a half-smile at Robbe’s refusal to answer, one that barely reaches his eyes. Even without Robbe saying it out loud, Sander knows he’s right. He steps towards Robbe, slowly, as though he’s gauging Robbe’s reaction before he comes to a stop directly in front of him. They’re so close now that Robbe is sure Sander can hear his heart thud against his ribcage.

“Do you want the truth?”

Robbe shrugs. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“How painful will it be?”

Sander’s smile drops immediately. He wants to reach for Robbe; to hold him close, to murmur a million apologies in his ear, to beg for forgiveness even when he knows he doesn’t deserve it. He wants to protect Robbe, but how can he do that if he’s always the one hurting him?

“Robbe —”

Sander reaches for him, but Robbe steps away.

“I can’t do this with you,” Robbe tells him quickly. “Not if you’re still with her. Not if when you leave me, you just go back to her.”

“Britt is in the pas—”

“I feel like I’ve heard that before.”

“Robbe —”

“The last time you said it,” Robbe tells him, voice shaking. “I believed you. I believed you when you said you loved me.”

“It’s still true,” Sander argues back. “It always was.”

“Then why did go running back to Britt after those homophobic assholes beat us up? Why did you tell me you loved me only to kiss Britt that same night?”

“Robbe —”

“Did you know I’d seen you with her?”

Sander lowers his gaze, deflating with each second that passes until Robbe’s anger simmers down. Robbe’s breathing heavily, leaning up against the wall for the extra support and struggling to keep his tears at bay. This was not how Robbe had pictured their reunion. He’d wanted something better than this. He’d wanted that Disney couple thing that Zoë and Senne seemed to have.

He’d wanted nothing but pure happiness.

Robbe wasn’t sure what happiness felt like anymore.

“Sander,” Robbe’s voice is quiet, broken; “Did you know?”

A pause, and then, “Not until I saw you after with Jens.”

Robbe can only bring himself to nod. He knew it was coming. There’s no way Sander didn’t realise that Robbe probably knew because Britt had been flaunting pictures of them on every social media page known to man. But Robbe doesn’t blame her. How can he? He’d helped Sander cheat on her; knowing that Britt had been cheated on in the past.

He thinks maybe this is his retribution.

“I’m sorry, Robbe,” Sander says softly, as the wind picks up around them. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Sander’s closer now; so close that if Robbe stretches his fingers out, he’s almost sure he’ll be able to intertwine them with Sander’s. Robbe wishes he could close the gap, to be able to reach across the distance and mend this broken thing between them.

“How long did it take you to finish it?”

“I lost track,” Sander admits, pulling his jacket tighter to his body. “I just had to make sure it was perfect.”

Robbe glances at him. “It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as the real thing, though.”

Robbe is the first to look away. He turns back to the mural and wonders how Sander feels about the whole thing. He seems proud of it; in awe of his work as he stares up at it with his muse at his side but Robbe can’t help but think this is too good to be true.

“Do you regret painting it?”

Sander whips around to face him. “Never.”

“But what about —”

Sander surges forward and kisses him quickly.

He presses Robbe up against the wall, hands splayed across Robbe’s stomach as he leans in, eyes never once leaving his. Sander pulls back, a breath width away, and his gaze flickers down to Robbe’s lips before his eyes flicker back up.

“I could never regret you.”

“But what about —”

Sander rests his forehead against Robbe’s. “I broke up with Britt.”

Robbe’s eyes flutter shut. “Sander—”

“I broke up with her,” Sander says again, and it’s easy to see the fierce determination in his eyes. “I didn’t paint this just to insult you by staying with her. Not when all I want is you.”

“Sander —”

“I love you.”

The confession is unexpected, unwarranted, but it doesn’t stop Robbe’s heart from racing. Sander’s watching him closely, studying every minute expression that crosses Robbe’s face as his jaw slackens in shock, opening to reply, to say anything. All words seem to fail him. All he can think about is this: Sander still loves me, Sander still loves me, Sander still loves⏤

Then Sander’s edging closer, trapping him.

“Please,” Robbe whispers, begging. “Sander.”

All of Robbe’s thoughts go haywire when Sander’s lips meet his again.

There’s a softness to him that Robbe doesn’t expect. Sander’s gentle, tender as his mouth traces the shape of Robbe’s lips, chasing the taste of intimacy that his body craves. Sander’s hand reaches up to cup Robbe’s jaw, tilting his head up so he can lean down to press feather-light kisses down the length of Robbe’s neck, smiling against his skin when Robbe’s pulse jumps out. Sander takes his time before he’s back to Robbe’s lips, savouring every single moment Robbe allows him.

“I love y⏤”

“Don’t,” Robbe cuts him off, softly.

Sander pulls back as if he’s been burned. 

The colour is high in Sander’s face under the streetlights, eyes bright, mouth swollen from kissing, and Robbe doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t ever want Sander to leave him, not again. It doesn’t matter that there are still things they have to talk through; that there are things that still need addressing.

Sander breathes him in, then exhales.

“I shouldn’t have said —”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to say it,” Robbe explains in a whisper. “It’s just I don’t think I’m ready to say it back. Not yet.”

Sander leans back in, revelling in the softness of Robbe’s lips against his, murmuring platitudes underneath his breath. One kiss turns into two, three, four and when they finally pull away, they’re both as breathless as each other.

“I’m sorry I can’t —”

Sander pulls him forward again. “Don’t apologise.”

Robbe glances at him. “I’m so—”

“We are the future, Robbe.”

He stands there silently after that, hands pressed tightly together, and the concern in Sander’s eyes is so intense that it’s unsettling. The faint hum of the traffic, the flickering lights, Sander’s slow breathing, it’s too much, and not enough all at the same time, and Robbe can barely catch himself as he stumbles, arm outstretched against the wall, but then Sander’s holding him up.

“That’s all that matters.” 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr dot com](http://birminghams.tumblr.com)


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